


The Promises They Hold

by Paian



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: 100-1000 Words, 500-999 words, Angst, Cabin Fic, Episode Related, Episode Tag, First Time, M/M, Porn Battle, Season/Series 08, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-08
Updated: 2007-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paian/pseuds/Paian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's writing his letter of resignation. Daniel's resigned to the fact that he'll never send it.</p><p>A 'Moebius' post-ep set in Jack's Minnesota cabin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Promises They Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 'Jack/Daniel, resignation.' Title from Dire Straits' 'Romeo and Juliet.'

"So that's your letter," Daniel said, in the cabin, looking over Jack's shoulder.

"That's my letter," Jack said. Teal'c and Sam hadn't been gone five minutes when he'd pulled a chair over and opened a word processor. "I deleted the damn thing twice because you remapped all the keyboard shortcuts. What the hell possesses you to do stuff like that?"

"Slap on the wrist to people who use my notebook without asking." Daniel leaned across to put his drink down -- leaning into Jack, on purpose; balancing with a hand on him, on purpose. "You should see what happens if you try to open a Web browser."

Jack's fingers, poised over the keys, curled in. "So, can I have permission to use your notebook?"

Daniel came back up straight and put his other hand on Jack too, rubbed thumbs deep into the tension of muscle. "To draft a letter you'll never send?" he said, squeezing. "Sure." With his fingertips, he mapped the curve of bones through flannel worn thin as hope. "If it gets me permission to do this."

Jack shivered, and his head lolled back; his eyes were closed; his mouth was open. Daniel twisted down to put his tongue in it, leaving one arm behind to support Jack's head, sliding the other into his shirt. Jack's nipples pricked up sharp and his abs contracted and he groaned around Daniel's tongue; it was a blur of _yes, god yes, fuck yes, of course_ and _you never had to ask for this_. Daniel didn't want to hear the words, so he muffled them with his lips and strangled them with his tongue. He'd do anything except listen to lies.

He told them instead: with his hands, undressing Jack and moving him and positioning him as if he could control anything that happened to them; with his body, as if he had weight to throw around, as if his patience and love and desire had substance or significance; with his tongue, making a silent language out of the shape of scars, the hollows of hipbones, the curve of glans. He laid the rangy, angular body out on the rug before the hearth and traced the ephemeral outlines of fireshadow. He took Jack's cock deep into the wet darkness of his throat, weighted Jack's hips to keep them still and moved on him as if Jack were fucking his mouth. When he felt the burn of precome in the back of his throat, he pulled off and let Jack watch him strip as if he were baring his soul. He lifted Jack's head and fed himself into Jack's mouth, and held him steady while he thrust, so Jack would feel he'd blown him. When he got too close, he eased his dick out and lifted away from the caress of Jack's hands to go find some lube.

"Daniel," Jack said softly when he came back, knelt down; he stroked the lips to still them, and when they parted to speak anyway he pushed two fingers in to choke off the vows. He rubbed sultry circles on Jack's tongue while he slicked Jack's erection. Jack was sucking, moaning, by the time Daniel straddled him, and though Daniel had to slide his fingers out to straighten enough to push down on him, his two wet fingertips on Jack's chest were enough to keep Jack from lunging up into an embrace. He saw Jack blink, try to mouth 'condom', and stroked a light _shhhh, don't worry, it's OK_ down Jack's breastbone. No words could make Jack understand that the concept of _future_ was the worst lie of all.

He teased himself with his fingers, watching Jack watch his hands while he rode him, feeling Jack's cock go rigidly hard up inside him at the sight. He clenched on every upstroke, keeping it slow, making it tight. When Jack's glittering eyes winced shut, Daniel reached Jack's right hand up to wrap around. He spilled over their twined fingers, muscular waves of orgasm licking up the length of Jack's cock in his ass. Jack came with a choked-off sob, and pulsed deeply and sweetly into Daniel for a long time.

When they woke up, full light was pushing against the blinds, the fire was cold ashes, the notebook's battery had died, and someone was pounding on the front door.

The telegram was brief. Jack's response would be immediate. Daniel had long since resigned himself to both.

Jack hadn't saved the document he'd been working on, but it was lost before he started. Daniel closed the notebook and slid it back into its protective case and got ready to go.

**Author's Note:**

> A commenter felt the telegram was anachronistic. Here's why I went with it:
> 
> The implication was supposed to be that Jack's cellphone was out of commission one way or another (he turned it off, or never brought it to begin with, or threw it in the lake or tossed the battery the way he did with Teal'c's that time, or whatever) because he was making a genuine effort to be not-available -- to be not-the-general, not-the-military-man -- for just one long weekend with his team and, then, Daniel ... but the military contacted him anyway, because they always will. They probably could have sent an airman or some kind of operative up there, but under the assumption that Jack's Minnesota cabin really is in the middle of nowhere, it might have been faster for them to wire the nearest Western Union (or whatever) office and have somebody local run a telegram up to him.
> 
> The other reason is that I just wanted to have somebody be banging on the door at that point in the fic. :-) I also liked the idea of a telegram instead of somebody delivering an oral message, because once the 'man from Porlock' hands the telegram over, there's no more interaction with an outsider -- and this little fic was really just about Jack and Daniel.


End file.
